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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723172">Negotiations</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenWhitecastle/pseuds/DetectiveRiley'>DetectiveRiley (RavenWhitecastle)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Sinner and the Saint [44]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Person of Interest (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Dialogue, Canon has been finely diced and sprinkled on top for flavor, Open System Machine, Post Samaritan, References to Canon, Time Skips</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:41:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,212</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenWhitecastle/pseuds/DetectiveRiley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is running out for Team Machine in the fight against Samaritan, but the Machine hasn't given them many options. Root, and consequently Harold, take an audience with the Machine and make a few requests.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harold Finch/John Reese, Root | Samantha Groves/Sameen Shaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Sinner and the Saint [44]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/940422</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. October 19th, 2015</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Some of you might have noticed that there was a weird time jump at the beginning of the previous chapter. If you did, it has been edited and fixed. I have written all the of the fics in the series but decided to change the timeline of events, and so a later chapter got moved up (only I missed a detail that placed it further along). Apologies, everyone!<br/>If you didn't notice, or if you read it after it was updated, congratulations! You didn't witness my fanfic faux pas. Carry on!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Root sat alone in the abandoned apartment complex, waiting for instructions from the Machine. She fiddled with her gun, rolling a bullet between her fingers, checking the safety and the sights. It had been a long wait, and in the cold and eerie silence, she grew restless. She was always restless these days. Always moving, rarely sleeping, stealing and running and watching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why can’t you beat Samaritan?” she wondered aloud, boredom winning over caution. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Machine was infuriatingly vague, as usual. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Trust in me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>She said. Shaw was always annoyed by the Machine’s innocuous responses. Root found it endearing, most of the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I DO trust you,” she replied, “but there has to be a way to win. Billions of simulations, and not a single solution?” She stared at the floor. “Seems a bit unlikely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There are many variables.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you changed all of them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a brief pause that made Root sit up a little straighter. The Machine didn’t normally hesitate. It reminded her a bit of Harold. He hesitated when he was scared, or when he was lying. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have tested what I can,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Machine replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you adjusted ALL of the variables?” she repeated, adding emphasis so the Machine couldn’t miss her meaning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a brief moment, the Machine answered, </span>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then change it! Maybe that’s the missing link, the thing that can help us-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Machine interrupted her.</span>
  <em>
    <span> No.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Root blinked, surprised. “What do you mean, no? You won’t adjust the variable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?!” Root snapped before she let out a long sigh. “We can’t let Samaritan win. You know that, right? So we have to try everything. Every possible angle, every solution, adjust every variable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Root held her breath in the brief silence that followed before the Machine said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>You are not interchangeable.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tilting her head, Root asked, “What do you mean? You mean you can’t put us in different positions on the board? If it means beating the bad guys, you should try swapping me and Harold around, or Shaw and John. Why haven’t you done that yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the Machine repeated. Even in its flat, monotone voice ripped from the audio waves, it sounded vehement, insistent. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You are not disposable.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Disposable? You…” Root trailed off as everything clicked into place. “You haven’t accepted simulation results where any of us die,” she whispered. It sounded loud in the forgotten hallway when she said it out loud. It sounded big. Daunting. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are not disposable, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the Machine echoed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Root blinked away a tear from her eye. “Oh, sweetie.” It was so obvious that this was Harold’s creation. A computer that cared. The Machine was so attached to its assets, the way Harold was attached to all his operatives. He would never ask any of them to sacrifice themselves, and now his Machine wouldn’t either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swallowing, Root replied, “You have to.” Her voice was quiet now, soft and shaky. “You have to consider it, at least until something better comes along, or until we run out of time, and we ARE running out of time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Machine was silent. With a single tear running down her cheek, Root whispered, “A world without one of us is better than a world without you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had the feeling that the Machine would try to argue, refuse, say that She couldn’t, but then the Machine said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Operative on the left. Seventh floors up, four windows in.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Root reloaded her gun. The time for words had ended. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. November 1st, 2015</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harold fiddled with his napkin, sitting at the table outside the cafe. It was a nice day, sunny with a light breeze, and the cafe was pleasant with a yellow awning and the smell of fresh bread wafting through its doors, but Harold felt anything but peaceful. He felt cold and stiff, like he’d been turned to stone. </p><p>“I wanted to talk to you,” he murmured, quietly enough to be heard by the Machine but not to draw attention, “No one else would understand.” He briefly thought of John, who had been with him for the better part of his journey. But even John would not fully understand everything he had to say, or accept it.</p><p>“Not much of a conversation, as you can’t talk back,” Harold mused, “That’s my fault, but I’ve been thinking, and I know you have, too, about how all this plays out.” He chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. “About what happens next.” He thought back on the simulations. “I’m sure you’ve made a million different versions. I know some very bad things are coming.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “I know I’m probably going to die.”</p><p>He paused. It was likely, almost inevitable, that the fight against Samaritan was going to cost Harold his life. “I accepted that a long time ago,” he said, staring blankly at the table. It was true, or at least it had been true. His line of work had always been dangerous, whether he was out in the field or not. And before he’d gotten involved with John, he had been all right with his imminent demise. He was still afraid- of course he was afraid, of death, of the unknown- but he’d made peace with his life. With his decisions.</p><p>That was all before John. </p><p>The thought of John brought him to his next point. “But I was wondering, if in any of those many versions, the people that I’ve roped into helping me… my friends… whether they get out alive.” He swallowed. “Is that a path? That we’re on?”</p><p>He looked up at the security camera on the wall and its blinking red light. He knew he wouldn’t get an answer, but he still waited. As if waiting would make any difference. As if it would change the answer.</p><p>After a few moments, he sighed. “I suppose I may have made that impossible. But… if it is… if any of them survive… I wanted to ask.” Harold closed his eyes. “I have to ask, whatever happens… take care of John.” His heart twisted. “Miss Shaw and Miss Groves can take care of each other, but John needs to be looked after. And if I’m not there…” He looked back up and pleaded, “Help him. Please.”</p><p>When the waitress approached his table, he wiped his eyes and cleaned his glasses, taking a steadying breath.</p><p>“Double shot and a cappuccino,” the waitress said as she set down the cups. With a smile, she added, “Good to see you back.” Harold gazed up at her, confused. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”</p><p>“I’m afraid that you are confusing me with someone else,” Harold replied carefully, “This is the first time I’ve been to this establishment.”</p><p>“Oh, sorry,” she said, “it’s just that I thought I recognized your order, too.”</p><p>Harold forced a polite grin despite his growing nervousness. “What a coincidence.”</p><p>As she walked away, he quickly gathered his things and grabbed a book of matches from the bowl on the table. He suddenly had much on his mind aside from coffee.</p><p>He paused briefly when he stood, and looked back at the camera. He could only hope that it would obey his instructions in his absence the way it had when he’d been kidnapped. “Goodbye,” he murmured, “and thank you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Dates and times per chapter are somewhat arbitrary as, like it states in the tags, canon has been finely diced and sprinkled on top for flavor. The Machine remains an open system and Root has god mode access.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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